


Interludes

by prxnceling



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Celebrian - Freeform, Elladan - Freeform, Elrohir - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Soul Bond, Twins, elrond - Freeform, takes place within the universe of my other story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-10-26 02:25:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17737247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prxnceling/pseuds/prxnceling
Summary: Snippets of Elrohir's family during his mental health crisis. All chapters occur simultaneously with different parts of my longer fic, Melancholia.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this story will only make sense if you've read my other fic, Melancholia.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Elrohir is unconscious, his family is brought together by their love for him. Takes place between chapter 3 (Part 1, Chapter 3) and chapter 4 (Part 2, Chapter 1) of Melancholia.

Elladan was so engrossed in the movement of the orc’s sword as he blocked each blow that he did not notice it draw the small knife from its belt until it was too late. Their blades were locked, and the orc took the opportunity to drive the knife into his chest.

It was a pain unlike any that Elladan had felt before. It was sharp, devastating, and he stumbled forward onto one knee with the force of it. The pain blurred everything, even the fear that rose as the orc raised its sword to deal the final blow.

_“NO!”_

Elrohir’s voice. A keen sword went over Elladan’s head. The orc fell backwards. Elladan grasped desperately at his side, trying to hold in the gushing blood.

“Elladan.” The sword clattered to the ground. Elrohir’s face, wide-eyed, came into view, and he knelt beside Elladan.

Elladan stared at his brother, at the movement of his lips, and even though he could tell that Elrohir was saying something he couldn’t figure out what it could be. Elrohir touched his face and the panic eased enough for him to hear.

“I need you to listen to me. We need to get you lying down so I can look at your wound. All right?”

“All right,” Elladan managed. Elrohir’s hand came behind him and he leaned back as his brother lowered him to the ground. As Elrohir pried at his hand he let go, the blood poured faster. He closed his eyes against the sudden wave of dizziness that accompanied the pain.

“You’re going to be all right. Everything’s going to be fine,” Elrohir whispered. His hands touched the wound and Elladan winced.

The pain faded. Elladan stared down at his side. Elrohir gasped. It was a choked sound, pained.

The wound sewed itself neatly shut.

Elladan looked to Elrohir. Elrohir’s mouth was open to speak, his eyes wide and shining.

He slumped forward and his head landed firmly on Elladan’s chest.

He did not rise again.

“Elrohir.” Elladan’s voice was tentative. He sat up without pain, and Elrohir’s head rolled into his lap. His eyes were closed tight, and his skin had taken on a sickly pallor that made his dark lashes stand out starkly.

“Elrohir,” Elladan said again. He grasped at Elrohir’s shoulders and pulled him upright. He was limp, and his head lolled as Elladan moved him until his chin came to rest on his chest.

“Elrohir, wake up!” Elladan was trembling. A terrible coldness had descended upon his heart.

_No. No._

_A life for a life._

“Elrohir, wake up, _please_.” Elrohir did not move. Elladan was sobbing.

Through the blurry window of his tears, Elladan could see Sílon’s mouth moving. The patrol was swarming them.

The silence rang in his ears as he stood, heaving his brother into his arms and staring down at his face. He was so still that he looked nearly peaceful in the light of the early morning. Elrohir’s hand slid from his chest and fell limply to his side. Elladan’s heart dropped to his stomach with it.

“Anordil,” he managed to gasp out. Elrohir was alive. He had to be. Sílon was still trying to talk to him, but Elladan could not hear anything besides his own ragged breath and, somewhere deep within himself, the shaky, fluttering beat of Elrohir’s heart.

Elladan stumbled for his horse. He threw himself up, cradling Elrohir’s body against his chest even as he pushed his horse forward as fast as she could go.

Elrohir’s voice rang painfully in Elladan’s head.

 _You’re going to be all right. Everything’s going to be fine._ Elrohir’s voice had been soothing, his hands gentle, even though Elladan had seen the terrible panic rising on his face. Was this how Elrohir had felt when Elladan had fallen? Yet it could not be—at least Elrohir knew the cause of Elladan’s hurt. Elladan did not know what had done this to Elrohir, what had sucked his pain into his brother and—

_This is my fault._

The thought caught in his throat with a ragged sob.

_Elladan. I’m sorry. I know that recently—_

They had been cut short. What had Elrohir been planning to tell him?

What if he never found out?

_NO!_

Anordil was in sight now. She was holding one end of Caenir’s stretcher, and Gladiel held the other and walked ahead. Anordil turned at the sound of the thundering hooves and Elladan watched her face morph with horror.

“What happened to him? Lay him down!” She put Caenir on the ground to rush towards him. Elladan jerked his horse to a stop and slid off, putting Elrohir on the ground as Anordil had instructed.

“I don’t—I don’t know. I don’t know,” he said. The panic made everything fuzzy. Anordil rushed towards them and skidded to her knees at Elrohir’s side.

“Look at me. I need you to tell me what happened,” Anordil said more sharply, grasping Elladan’s chin in her hand. His breath hitched.

“He—I was hurt. He touched it, and the wound is gone. I don’t know!”

Anordil drew away. She felt Elrohir’s forehead with one hand and his wrist with the other. Her face was set in stony lines, cold and unfeeling. Elladan felt his tears begin anew.

Anordil said nothing for a moment that drew on for far too long. The silence was broken only by the sound of Elladan’s gasping sobs.

“He will be all right,” she said at last. “He is only weakened.”

“Why? What h-happened?” Elladan was still shaking, holding tightly to Elrohir’s hand as if they were children again.

“If I might hazard a guess, he may have inherited your father’s healing powers. At least, that is the only possibility I can think of.” Anordil went to her pack and pulled out a small vial.

“What is that?” Elladan asked, and his voice was slightly stronger now. He forced himself to breathe, slowly, in and out. He swallowed tightly.

“Miruvor. I doubt he will wake for some time, but this will stabilize him for the time being. Your father will know better than I what to do. Hold his head up for me.”

Elladan reached beneath Elrohir’s heavy head and lifted it up. Beneath his last finger he could feel Elrohir’s warm neck, and on it there was an unfamiliar roughness. Elladan realized after a moment that it was thin scratches. He frowned, but his attention swiftly shifted as Anordil moved.

Anordil pulled gently at Elrohir’s chin and his mouth opened. She pressed the vial to his lips. Even though he did not wake, his throat bobbed as he swallowed instinctively. Only a few seconds passed before some of the color returned to his face, and Elladan relaxed slightly.

He ran his hand over Elrohir’s forehead to brush his hair back. From behind him, he could hear hooves and voices.

“Is he all right?” Sílon called. Elladan was worried that he would be scolded for not communicating and for dashing off without a word, but Sílon did not chastise him. He slid gracefully from his horse and knelt by Elrohir’s side. He looked at Elladan.

“Are _you_ all right? What happened? Weren’t you hurt?”

“He healed me. With his touch,” Elladan said softly, hearing the shock pulled tight over his own voice. Sílon looked back to Elrohir and then up to Anordil, and she nodded in confirmation.

“We should head home,” Sílon said after a moment. “The orcs are dead, and we’ve burned the bodies. If there are more, another patrol will have to eliminate them. We cannot continue with two trainees out of commission,” he said. Sílon stood and motioned for the patrol to continue towards home.

“Can you ride with him?” Sílon asked. Elladan nodded, and Sílon went to his horse and hurried to the front of the group. Elrohir’s horse, which had been at the back of the group, hurried over to him once she caught his scent and sniffed at his face, nudging his head. Elladan put one hand on her muzzle and ran it gently down her face until she calmed somewhat.

“It’ll be easier if you pass him up to me,” Elladan said to Anordil. She nodded, putting one arm beneath Elrohir’s shoulders and the other beneath his knees, lifting him up. Elladan mounted his horse and then reached down. He gathered Elrohir against his chest and carefully arranged him sidesaddle in front, so that Elrohir’s head rested against Elladan’s shoulder. He kept one arm around his brother’s form and kept the other on his horse’s neck, digging his heels gently into her flank so that she followed after the rest of the patrol. Elrohir’s horse kept pace beside them.

* * *

 It was dusk when the Last Homely House came into view. Elrond was standing silhouetted in the doorway, waiting for them. Elladan watched as his father’s sharp grey eyes traveled over the group, first over Caenir still on a stretcher at the front, and then back through the others until he met Elladan’s gaze. Elrohir was still unconscious against his shoulder and had not woken—he had not moved at all, but Anordil had come frequently beside them to check on him, and she had said that his heartbeat and breathing were normal.

Elrond’s eyes went wide as he looked upon his sons. As they pulled into the courtyard, he went reluctantly to Caenir first, but Anordil waved him on to go to Elrohir.

“What happened?” Elrond said, his voice nearly a shout as he rushed to them. He held his arms out. Reluctantly, Elladan lowered Elrohir into his grasp, swiftly sliding from his horse.

“He’s not wounded. I was, and he touched me and he healed me,” Elladan said. Elrond’s face skewed from terror to shock before it settled somewhere between worry and delight.

“Did he do it on purpose?”

“I don’t think so,” Elladan said.

“How badly were you wounded?” Elrond looked him over once from head to toe, as if searching for a remainder of his injury.

“I was stabbed in the chest,” Elladan sad. He was ashamed to admit how careless he had been to have taken such a hit, and he reached instinctively to touch the spot, just below the last rib on his right side. Elrond’s lips tightened into a straight, pale line.

“What did Anordil do for him?”

“She gave him miruvor to drink.”

Elrond’s face tightened further. Evidently, Elrond thought that the fact that Elrohir needed miruvor was telling of how bad it had been. Elrohir had improved so much since the drink that Elladan had nearly forgotten how weak and pale he had been before, and the memory flooded through him with a surge of fear.

“He’ll be okay. Won’t he?” Elladan asked. His voice was suddenly weak.

“He will need to rest,” Elrond said, and his voice was soft. His eyes were locked on Elrohir’s face. “I do not know how long it will take for him to wake. We should bring him to his room—he will be more comfortable there than in the Healing Halls. Will you go get—?” The look in Elladan’s eyes stopped him.

“You take him,” Elrond said. “And I will go get your mother.”

Elrond put Elrohir carefully into Elladan’s arms. The panic that still prickled beneath his skin made Elladan acutely aware of the dead weight of Elrohir’s body. Fear coiled tightly in his gut and squeezed. He started towards the family suite, and Elrond went in the other direction in search of Celebrían.

* * *

 Elladan had just finished taking Elrohir’s boots off and laying him on the bed when Celebrían burst in. Elrond hurried behind her. Celebrían rushed to the bedside and touched Elrohir’s face with one hand, her thumb tracing over the soft skin of his cheek. She let out a long, shuddering breath.

After a moment, she looked up at Elladan.

“You are unscathed?”

“I am now,” Elladan said. “He healed me. I don’t know how.”

Elrond came forward and laid his hand lightly on Elrohir’s arm. He closed his eyes, and his brow furrowed as if he was listening for something. Elladan wanted to ask what he was doing, but he did not dare interrupt. After a long minute, Elrond’s eyes opened, and he drew back his hand.

“It is magic,” Elrond said. “I am certain of it now. I can feel it running through his veins. Can you?” He turned to Celebrían, who pressed her hand slightly harder against Elrohir’s cheek for a long moment and then nodded.

“What does it feel like?” Elladan asked. He had not noticed anything different in their bond, though perhaps he would once Elrohir woke.

“Like energy—the kind that flows between the two of you, when you give one another strength. But this is just for him.”

Elladan was overwhelmed with a sudden wave of jealousy that took a long moment to subside. _Magic!_ A thrilling prospect. Elrohir had always been more introspective than he, and more learned, and Elladan felt too closely tied to the earth and to his own body to imagine that he could ever possess any of his parents’ magic. Magic was much too… _elven_ for him, the more human of the brothers.

_This is just for him._

Something subtle shifted within Elladan in that moment, and it was a mixture of tenderness and rising respect.

_I would be dead now if it were not for him._

“He saved my life,” he whispered after a moment. He could hear his own voice choking on the words. _I would be_ dead _now if it were not for him._

Celebrían heard the emotion in his voice. She wrapped her arms tightly around him. Elladan leaned into her embrace, and even though he was taller than her now he settled comfortably where her neck met her shoulder as he shook and cried and she soothed him.

_He saved my life._

Elladan never called Elrohir “little brother” again.

* * *

 Elladan stayed by Elrohir’s side for the rest of that day, though it was not a long time; by the time he had brought Elrohir to his room night had fallen. Elrond and Celebrían stayed with him. They talked in soft voices, and at other times they sat in silence. Eventually, Celebrían went to fetch them dinner, and she brought Elrond his paperwork to do at Elrohir’s bedside. Elrond expertly fed Elrohir warm broth and changed him into a nightshirt before swaddling him in blankets. Throughout it all, Elrohir was unnervingly still.

“It is time for you to retire,” Celebrían told Elladan, and he jolted back to attention. He swallowed tightly, not meeting her eyes.

“I want to stay with him,” he said.

“No one prohibited that,” she said. “Get changed, and then you can sleep beside him.”

Elladan stood up and released Elrohir’s hand—he was not sure how long it had been since he had taken it in his own. He looked at his brother’s face for another long moment ere he went to the door between their rooms.

Mere seconds after he had turned away, panic stabbed through Elladan’s chest and shattered the moment of calm. Immediately he whirled around, rushing back to Elrohir’s side and grasping at his face.

_Please be okay._

Elrohir’s breathing was as steady as ever. He was exactly as Elladan had left him. Still his heart pounded with desperate fear, and Elladan leaned to press his ear against Elrohir’s chest, lowering himself to his knees beside the bed and listening until he heard the steady beat of his heart.

“Elladan?” Celebrían’s voice was alarmed. Her hand touched his shoulder.

“Don’t make me leave him, Ammë,” Elladan whispered. “Please, not even for a moment. I can’t. I can’t.”

A long moment passed.

“I’ll bring a basin for you to wash and change in here, but you cannot go to sleep in your clothes from patrol,” Celebrían said. He heard her stand and go.

Elrond’s hand came to rest on Elladan’s back, and his palm rubbed soothing circles in between his shoulder blades. Elladan did not rise from where he was draped across Elrohir’s chest.

“Did you ever…” Elladan drifted off. _Of course_ Elrond had felt this with Elros. At least Elladan could rest assured that Elrohir would recover. He shuddered once.

“I’m so sorry, Atya,” he whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Elladan shook his head, knowing that Elrond did not understand what he meant. He did not have the courage to try and explain.

“Your things,” Celebrían said, and Elladan lifted his shaky head. She had brought a basin full of water and a nightshirt for him. She put the basin on the bedside table, and Elladan took his nightshirt, aware of how her concerned gaze weighed on him. He did not meet her eyes. She and Elrond went to their room while Elladan washed and changed clothes.

He called for them when he was done, and they returned as he climbed into bed beside Elrohir, wrapping one arm around his brother’s waist and curling into his side. They had changed into night clothes too. Instead of sitting in their chairs, they came and climbed into the bed as well. Celebrían curled behind Elladan, and Elrond behind Elrohir. It was a bit tight on the small bed, but Elladan did not mind—he could feel his mother’s warmth behind him and Elrohir’s in front, and as Celebrían and Elrond reached across the two of them to hold hands, he felt as if he and Elrohir were in the middle of the soft embrace of their childhood.

“Good night,” Elladan whispered after a long moment. He closed his eyes.

* * *

 Elladan slept fitfully that night, waking at least once an hour. He would open his eyes to see Elrohir’s pale face in the dark, remember suddenly his plight and be filled with terror. He would watch his twin for several long minutes until he calmed enough to fall asleep again.

At last he woke and it was light outside. Elrond and Celebrían were no longer in the bed. Elrohir was exactly as he had been the last hour when Elladan had woken, and all the times before that—though it looked like more color had returned to his face.

“Good morning.” It was Celebrían’s soft voice. She was sitting by the bedside with a book, but she looked up from it to smile at him. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not really,” Elladan admitted. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his neck and taking a moment to tuck the sheets carefully into Elrohir’s side before he got up. There was a breakfast tray on Elrohir’s desk, so Elladan went to it and picked out an apple.

“Good morning,” Elrond said as he walked in. Elladan nodded to him and then glanced out the window—the sun was near its peak, which meant it was nearly noon and he was only just eating breakfast.

“Lessons!” he exclaimed, nearly dropping his apple. His gaze shot to Elrond. “Erestor will have my head.”

“I told him not to expect either of you,” Elrond said with a chuckle. “Until Elrohir is ready to return, you do not need to go. I would not have work accumulate for him to catch up on—he must focus on his recovery.”

The thought of respite was glorious, and Elladan felt himself relax.

“Knowing Erestor if we have more than a day, he’ll want to send something for me to work on while—"

“He’s awake.”

Elladan darted over to the bed as Celebrían spoke. It was pure instinct that brought him to his brother’s side with such speed; he blinked, and he was there.

Elrohir was indeed awake, his silver irises slivers beneath his struggling eyelids. He looked more disoriented than Elladan had ever seen him. Besides his eyes, there was no other evidence that he was conscious, for he had not moved at all.

“Brother,” Elladan breathed. He was at a loss for anything to say. Elrond came beside him.

“The orcs?” Elrohir muttered. His voice was raspy and weak, quiet. After a moment his eyes shot fully open, and his gaze shot to Elladan.

“Elladan! You’re—”

“The orcs are gone,” Elladan soothed, reaching timidly to touch the top of his brother’s head. He tried to keep his voice as steady as he could despite the tightening of his chest. “You healed me, brother. I’m all right. I’m all right, Elrohir.”

Elrohir relaxed. He blinked slowly, on the verge of sleep.

“Drink,” Elrond instructed. He moved past Elladan to press a cup to Elrohir’s lips. Elrohir drank, and what tension had been in his form softened. He was silent as his eyes drifted between the three of them aimlessly.

“Sleep if you need it,” Elrond murmured. He pushed a strand of hair out of Elrohir’s face. A tiny smile flitted across Elrohir’s lips before his eyes closed, and immediately he was gone again.

* * *

 Elrohir had not woken up since then, and a full day had passed. Elladan had slept restlessly again, and his mood suffered for it; the worry that had been tugging at his heart for the last couple of days threatened to tear it to shreds when combined with the force of his tiredness. His parents had noticed his irritability, and the three of them talked less. Elrond went occasionally out to attend to other duties, and when he returned, Celebrían went for several hours to tend to her garden. Thus, he and Elrond were alone when Elladan spoke.

“What happens now?”

Elrond’s gaze shot up from his paperwork at the sound of Elladan’s voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Something has to change. This is big. Something has to change now that he has magic.”

“It depends on what he wants,” Elrond said. “If he wishes to train as a healer, he could switch tracks—I would encourage him to, so as not to let this gift go to waste. But if he is truly devoted to becoming a warrior, then we cannot make him change his mind.”

Elladan pondered this for a moment. For Elrohir to change paths would be an enormous change for both of them—could they bear separation for nearly all of the day, six days a week? Elladan could hardly stand to give Elrohir the solitude that he seemed to crave so often; his parents had talked to him about it, years ago, when he would frequently drag the reluctant Elrohir away from his room and take him on adventures. Elrohir would later complain that he would have preferred to be reading a book. It seemed like lessons and training were the only time that Elladan saw Elrohir these days—would he even see him at all, with that gone? Elladan could imagine Elrohir holing himself up in his room and in the Healing Halls for work and never going out.

Elladan shuddered at the thought of how lonely he would feel.

Elladan glanced to Elrohir and resisted the urge to sigh. He was still sleeping, but he moved more often now than that first terrible day, when he had stayed so still that he looked dead. As Elladan reached to touch Elrohir’s cheek, Elrohir leaned into the touch, his eyes still closed.

_Please don’t leave me._

* * *

Elladan slept in Elrohir’s bed for another night. He woke feeling groggy and tired. He had taken his usual seat at Elrohir’s bedside; it was becoming tiresome to sit when he was itching to move and to go outside, but he knew that until Elrohir was up and about, leaving him alone would only lead to panic. He did not realize that he had fallen asleep until he felt a warm hand on top of his own, and heard his name whispered.

“Elladan…Elladan.”

Elladan’s hand turned and grasped hard as he woke. He blinked swiftly to try and relieve the tired pressure behind his eyes. Elrohir was looking back up at him, more awake this time than before, and Elladan’s face eased into a relieved smile.

“Atya!” he called, looking around. Their parents were on the balcony. Elrond and Celebrían both smiled as they came towards them, and Elladan’s grip on Elrohir’s hand relaxed.

“Welcome to the land of the living, my son,” Celebrían said. She came beside Elladan and took Elrohir’s other hand in her own. Elrond put one hand on Elrohir’s forehead and the other under his chin, feeling for his pulse.

“What happened?” Elrohir asked. His voice was not so tired this time, and Elladan’s heart was relieved at the sound of it.

“What do you remember?” Elrond asked.

“I remember Elladan was wounded. I—I touched him. It burned.” He looked to Elladan, and Elladan felt his heart swell again with a now-familiar sentiment.

_You saved my life._

“You healed me,” he said, hardly a breath.

“It appears you have your father’s healing abilities—magic, that is,” Celebrían said. She was smiling. “Though they have long laid dormant.”

Elrohir did not react as Elladan thought he would—with surprise, namely—but instead looked across to Elrond, who was wearing a familiar smile.

 “Do you wish to train as a healer?” Elrond asked.

“I…” Elrohir paused, and Elladan held his breath.

“I would...want to be a field-healer. Not a healer who lives in the House. And perhaps even do more fighting than they usually do.”

Elladan felt his heart tear sharply in two.

Still, he did not let it show on his face. He smiled, searching desperately for a silver lining.

“We can still go on patrols together!” he said, forcing a grin. Elrohir’s eyelids were drooping.

“Why did I…” Elrohir bit on his lip, thinking. “Why am I so tired?”

 “Healing with magic comes at the price of your own energy,” Elrond said. “It was a severe wound, and your first time using your ability. It took too much out of you. I do not doubt it will take you several more days to recover fully, on top of what has already passed.”

Elrohir was visibly struggling to listen.

“How long…?”

“Three days,” Elrond said. To Elladan, it felt like it had been a lifetime.

 “Sleep,” Celebrían said.

“After you drink,” Elrond said. He brought a glass of water, and Elladan reluctantly let go of Elrohir’s hand so that he could take the glass. His hands were steady.

“You should go to bed, Elladan. I have no doubt you’ve strained your neck from sleeping like that,” Elrohir said. Elladan rubbed at his neck, reminded of the ache, and smiled a little.

“I suppose I could go, now that I know you are well…”

“Go,” Elrohir said. “I am not going anywhere.”

So Elladan went. When he left the room the panic did not smother him, for he was assured at last that Elrohir would be all right.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There were noted to be possibilities of both trauma induced and inherited ailments." That is what Elrohir had said, and it sent Elrond's world crashing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place between Chapter 10 (Part 4, Chapter 1) of Melancholia, after Elrohir has presented his project concept to the panel.  
> Other notes:  
> Celebrían refers to Elrohir by his mother-name, Rossë, in this chapter.  
> This was originally part of the draft for a long Elrond/Celebrían fic that I've been working on for some time, but unfortunately I'm very dissatisfied with that draft overall and will probably start over with significant restructuring and changes. However, the good news is that some of the parts I am happier with will be up sooner than they would have been otherwise. Just as was the case with Never Alone, I'm changing this fic to unfinished, as it is likely that I will add more chapters in the future.

The words had been tumbling around in Elrond’s mind for hours, and the whirlwind left no room for any other thoughts.

He had let them pass by without thought when Elrohir first said them, so engrossed was he in listening to his son’s plans. But Erestor had sent Elrond a copy of his notes from the session so that Elrond could start trying to get approval from the council to use the fourth floor for Elrohir’s Halls of Mental Healing, and when he had seen them written out in Erestor’s neat print, it had made it so much worse.

_Trauma induced and inheritance._ Erestor had put a star next to it, clearly thinking the same thing that Elrond now thought.

They had wondered for so long what possibly could have been causing Elrohir’s melancholy, which Elrond recognized so well from his own life. Elrond had never thought to consider inheritance as a cause. He had never heard of such a thing. He had never known to fear passing on his melancholy to his children.

_I’m sorry._

He was seated in his and Celebrían’s bedroom, on the floor, and the stone leeched cold through his boots and trousers in a way that made the coldness in his heart feel worse. He was curled up beyond the far side of the bed. He grasped at his hair, holding it harshly in his hand and tugging, trying desperately to ground himself with the pain. His hands shook.

_Get a hold of yourself, Elrond._

The door opened. He could hear the swish of skirts and smell familiar perfume.

“Elrond?” Celebrían said. He did not respond. Celebrían came around the side of the bed. She sat beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He crumbled.

“Breathe, Elrond. It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”

“It’s not. It’s not,” Elrond choked, tucking his face against the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

“Breathe. We’ll talk once your breathing is back to normal, okay?” Her hand was rubbing his back, and under her touch he felt his lungs begin to fill properly with air again. He sagged against her.

“Talk to me,” she murmured. Her breath was warm as she kissed the top of his head.

“Elrohir had his presentation today. He’s been researching what could have made him so sad.”

“I heard,” Celebrían said. Her voice was soft, patient. “Erestor said it went very well.”

“It _did_ go very well. He’s so articulate. He’s so clever, Celebrían,” Elrond whispered. “He’s so wonderful. All this has happened to him, and he’s using it to help others. He is so brave.”

“He is. He is like you,” Celebrían said. There was something strange in her voice. Elrond did not ask why.

“Too much like me,” Elrond said. “He found—he found out that many such illnesses are _inherited,_ Celebrían. We had wondered for so long what could have caused these feelings in him. And now we know. I did.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Celebrían said firmly. “There was nothing you could have done to predict this. And it is not like you would keep your melancholy if you had a choice in the matter.”

“Still.” Elrond said, and as he spoke his words got faster and faster, breathless. “He got it from me. I should’ve seen it sooner. I s-should’ve seen and spoken to him about it before it got so far. It got so close, Celebrían. He scared me so bad. You didn’t see him.”

“I didn’t,” she echoed. “And I will count myself lucky for that. And I know you will always blame yourself, wrongly, but I know that Rossë does not hold it against you. He loves you.” He could hardly hear her over the thoughts, terrible realizations that came one after the next and screamed their accusations in the echoing chambers of his head.

“I-I’ve been so focused on protecting them from things outside,” Elrond said, stumbling over the words in his haste to articulate them, for maybe if he freed them, they would stop their screaming. “But the real threat to him was in him already, and I gave it to him. I f-failed him. I didn’t see it in time to help him.”

“Elrond,” she said, and she pushed him away just enough so that she could grasp his face in her hands, one on each side. The feeling of her warm fingers on his skin tugged him harshly back to reality.

“Do _not_ talk like that,” Celebrían said. “You yourself just said how clever and wonderful and brave our son is. You cultivated those things in him. And when you claim all of your parenting to this point has been a failure because he has his melancholy, you reduce him to that. He is so much more than that. _You_ are so much more than that.”

“I j-just wanted him to be happy,” Elrond choked. “I wanted them to be happy, and to have a life that was easy. Neither of them will ever f-forget—” _how Elrohir looked when he was sobbing with shards of glass in his palms._

“No, they won’t forget,” Celebrían said. She drew a strand of his hair back behind his ear. “And it’s a sad thing that it happened. But there is nothing to be done about it now. This is not something for you to blame yourself with, or something that proves you have failed as his father. It is an opportunity for you to prove that you are the father he needs.”

“I wanted them to be happy.” His voice was small.

“Elrond, they _are_ happy,” Celebrían said. “They will be. One moment of tragedy does not mean they will be broken for the rest of their lives. They have our support to get through things, and Glorfindel’s and Erestor’s, too. And they have each other.”

There was a hollowness inside of his heart as he listened to her. After a moment he thought about her words, allowing her calmness and surety to spread through him. His head went quiet.

He never wanted his children to suffer as he had. And he had thought that Elrohir had felt that same suffering. But it was more complicated than that, he realized. Elrohir’s feelings may have been akin to his own, but Elrond had suffered endlessly and alone. He had hurt himself more times than Elrohir had—too many times to count—and Elros had never wanted to hear about it.

Now that Elrohir knew of all the support that surrounded him, perhaps he really would get better.

“I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Elrond murmured. He leaned down so that his forehead was pressed against Celebrían’s, and her hands were still resting on his cheeks. She smiled.

“I love you too, Elrond.”


End file.
